


We Will Always Be Beside You

by CreativWit



Series: Wit and Haven's Eskel Whump Dump [2]
Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Talks, Eskel Has Self-Esteem Issues (The Witcher), Eskel better let them, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Geralt and Lambert just really want to take care of Eskel okay?, Geralt is a Good Brother™, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is a Good Brother™, Lambert is a Good Brother™, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, head massages, slight reference to PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativWit/pseuds/CreativWit
Summary: Eskel has a migraine. Geralt and Lambert help him through it. It’s as simple as that, especially when it comes to their dear older brother.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Wit and Haven's Eskel Whump Dump [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108274
Comments: 22
Kudos: 75





	We Will Always Be Beside You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rose_SK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/gifts).



> This was a self-indulgent fic until it wasn’t. Then, it became a gifted fic. To the one and only, havenoffandoms! She also goes by Rose_SK on AO3, and you should definitely check her out. She’s amazing and I love her. I couldn’t ask for a better fic-planning partner. Because of her, The Witcher fandom now has over sixty Eskel-whump fics in the drafts. That’s not even a joke. 
> 
> _There’s over sixty Eskel-centric fics sitting in my drafts._
> 
> Without further ado, here is a very informal fic of Eskel having a migraine. Please note that this is based off of _my_ experiences with chronic migraines. Everyone experiences them differently, and if you feel comfortable sharing yours, leave them in the comments below :)
> 
> Enjoy! And thank you, Haven, for everything <3

When Eskel didn’t come downstairs for breakfast that morning, none of them really thought much of it. They’d done a lot of physical training yesterday, and then Eskel had topped it off by insisting he go into the forest and collect more firewood for the keep. Had it been a good idea? No, and the others had expressed that as much (some more aggressively than others), but Eskel waved them off. Despite the weariness in his shoulders and dullness in his eyes, they let him go off on his own. In hindsight, they probably should have sent someone with him. 

Jaskier frowned, entering the dining hall with a steaming bowl of porridge in his hands. “Eskel’s not down yet?”

“Nope,” Lambert replied, popping the ‘p’ and keeping his focus on his breakfast.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Coën piped up, smearing butter onto a roll. “Kinda wore himself down yesterday.”

Aiden, finished with his meal already, propped his chin in one hand and spun his half-full mug absentmindedly. “Anyone else think we should have _probably_ gone with him?"

Without looking, Lambert’s hand shot out and stilled Aiden’s mug, preventing it from nearly tipping over and spilling on the table. “The idiot wanted to go out, he went out. I wasn’t going to stop him.” Lambert paused, drawing back his hand and staring at his bowl as he pushed his porridge around. “Does, uh, anyone know what time he got back?”

“Late,” Geralt mumbled into his mug. He took a swig of whatever ale he insisted on drinking so early in the morning before sighing, “He wasn’t back by the time I went to bed. Probably around midnight or so.”

“What the fuck?” Jaskier snapped as he sat beside Geralt. “And none of you went to look for him?”

“He’s a witcher, Jask,” Geralt reminded, attempting to placate the bard. “He can take care of himself.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point! Are we even sure he’s in his room?”

Coën sent him a small smile. “I heard him come in. What time, I have no idea. But I heard him, Jask, and I could hear him breathing in his room when I passed by this morning. He’s here.”

Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn’t say another word. They could all sense the annoyance rising off of him, though. Aiden winced before eventually offering,

“Okay, here’s the deal. We’ll give him some time to sleep in, and if he doesn’t appear before lunch, we’ll go check on him. Sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Coën replied encouragingly, and the two other wolves grumbled their assent. 

Jaskier sighed in resignation before agreeing. “Fine. He just better be okay.”

Geralt placed a reassuring hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Besides,” Lambert continued, giving the bard a smirk, “this is assuming Vesemir doesn’t find out he’s sleeping in and throws him out of bed himself.”

The table devolved into snorts of laughter at the image before eventually launching into stories of young students and grumpy instructors. It didn’t take long for Jaskier’s worry to dissipate, but as the conversation continued on, Geralt found his eyes straying to the empty space across from him, the one Eskel usually filled. Glancing up, he witnessed Lambert looking, too, and they ended up staring at each other. A small frown crossed Lambert's face, and an understanding passed between them. Something was off.

 _Give it 'til lunch_ , Geralt reminded himself. _He's probably fine._

_~~~~~~~_

By the time lunch rolled around, Eskel had yet to show his face. The others didn’t have much time to fret over it. Between the chores Vesemir set for them to complete and the incoming blizzard, the residents of the keep had paired off and rushed to finish their tasks for the day. Aiden and Lambert had run off without a word, likely heading to fix the stables and add enough firewood to Eskel’s haul to last the snow-in. Jaskier disappeared into the keep, searching for any valuables to move away from large holes in the walls, as well as patch up the smaller ones. Geralt paired up with Coën to fix the roof, all worries of Eskel dissipating as he concentrated on not getting knocked off the keep by the wind. 

It wasn’t until after lunch, when everyone had headed to the library or for a nap in their rooms, did he realize Eskel’s absence. He waited for five minutes. Then ten. Fifteen passed. By twenty, Geralt had about enough. He rose from his seat in the library, concern beginning to weigh on his shoulders. Everyone else was, in some way, dozing off, besides Vesemir, who seemed more intent on reading his book than napping.

“Heading to bed?” Vesemir asked as Geralt passed by, though it was less a question and more dry humor.

Geralt stopped and shook his head. “Eskel hasn’t shown.”

“Still?” Vesemir furrowed his eyebrows. “You were on your way to check on him?” At Geralt’s nod, Vesemir jerked his head in the direction of the library entryway. “Go ahead.”

Geralt hurriedly moved past his mentor and beelined to Eskel’s room. He kept his ears tuned into his surroundings. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach when no sound came from the direction of his brother’s room, not even snores. A chill washed over Geralt’s spine. He took note of the noises coming from beyond Jaskier’s door, just in case.

 _Be asleep, Eskel,_ Geralt thought. He would always take Eskel sleeping in over the other scenario currently haunting him.

Geralt reached Eskel’s room, bringing his ear slightly closer to the heavy, oak door. He knocked three times and waited. Not a single sound stirred from inside. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. He knocked three times again.

"Eskel?" Geralt called out. This time, a pained gasp echoed in response.

Worry encasing him, Geralt pushed open the door. Immediately, darkness greeted him. The fireplace was out, and the candles around the room didn’t have a single spark to them. His eyes drifted around the room before falling upon Eskel curled up on his bed, muscles pulled taut as he lay unmoving.

Geralt's mouth went dry at the sight. "Eskel?"

He only received another pained groan.

Geralt moved further into the room. He rounded Eskel's bedside, slowly drawing nearer. His brother didn’t even twitch. "Esk-?"

" _Fuck,_ " Eskel hissed, eyes squeezing further shut despite already being closed. "Geralt, _please..._ "

Geralt didn't dare to waste time asking stupid questions, like if everything was okay when everything was _clearly_ not okay.

"What's going on?"

"Fuck," Eskel whispered again. "Lower your voice."

Geralt paused. "Esk, what's wrong?" he asked, voice dropped as close to a whisper as his deep voice could get.

"'s nothing," Eskel groaned, pulling in on himself tighter. "Stupid."

Geralt hummed, thinking on Eskel's absence throughout the day and his current sorry state. "Doubt it's stupid."

Eskel chewed on his cheek, visibly fighting back another groan. "Geralt-"

"Stop making this worse for yourself and just answer the damn question."

Eskel still hesitated. "It's just a headache," he murmured softly.

Geralt's jaw clenched. "Just a headache," he repeated slowly.

Eskel somehow managed a full-body flinch. "Well, fuck..." He tried to laugh it off, cracking open one eye. Geralt's throat tightened at the sight of his brother's watery gaze. "You didn't have to say it like that..."

Geralt stilled. "Dammit, no. I didn't mean it like-" He quickly cut himself off, gathering his thoughts as Eskel let his open eye drift shut again. "Look, I think you and I can both agree this isn't _just_ a headache."

"My _head_ is _aching_ , Geralt," Eskel answered, managing to still snark back despite looking weaker than a soaked kitten. "Call that a headache."

"This is more than an _ache_ , Esk." Geralt raised an eyebrow, even if Eskel didn't see it. "Lemme guess: sore muscles, tense neck, sharp pain instead of dull throbbing, even more sensitive to your surroundings than we usually are? Maybe nauseous, too?"

Eskel paused, then opened one eye again. "How did you-?"

Geralt gave a knowing grin. "Jask gets them sometimes when he pulls too many work nights in a row." He perched himself on the edge of Eskel's bed, careful not to shift his brother. "A migraine. Worse than a regular headache.”

Eskel closed his eye again. "Feels worse than a concussion," he finally admitted, though his voice was quieter, like he was ashamed to say it out loud.

Geralt resisted the urge to sigh in pity, knowing Eskel would kill him for it once he was better. "I know." He reached out a hand, only to pause.

When he was with Jaskier, he knew exactly what to do. Jaskier thrived on physical touch, so, naturally, scalp massages and gentle pressure on his temples were the best way to go when it came to his migraines. But Eskel wasn't Jaskier. And it'd been a long time since Eskel was vulnerable in this way, especially with Geralt.

Geralt withdrew his hand.

"I'll be back," he promised, slowly standing. Eskel made no move to acknowledge him, but Geralt caught the slight frown pulling at his lips. His heart clenched, but he tampered down his guilt and left Eskel's room. He hurried to Jaskier's door, hearing the bard rustling around and not even bothering to knock before barging in.

The bard jumped, pressing a hand to his chest and whirling around to face Geralt. "Melitele's tits, Geralt! Are you _trying_ to scare the shit out of me?"

"I need your help."

Jaskier sobered quickly. He dropped his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Eskel has a migraine." Jaskier flinched in sympathy. Geralt continued on, "I want to sit with him, but I don't know what he needs."

Jaskier raised an amused eyebrow. "And I would? _You_ usually take care of _me_. Why don't you just ask him, dear heart?"

Geralt shook his head. "He'd never be honest with me."

That caused Jaskier to frown, but thankfully, the bard recognized it as a topic to shelve away for later. "The best thing I can suggest is complete silence and darkness. I can tell the rest of the keep to settle down. I'm sure his senses are rampaging right now."

Geralt felt the stress start to lift from his shoulders as Jaskier talked. Jask would know what to do, and Geralt would do it. He would do just about anything if it meant he didn't have to see Eskel curled up in pain like that for much longer.

"I'll grab a few things: a warm compress, some water, a bucket just in case..." Jaskier tapped his foot in thought. "I can whip up an herbal tea, too. See if that helps." He slowly started to move towards the door, approaching Geralt. "For your part, though, I would go back to him. Give him the massages you usually give me. I know you guys aren't exactly the expressive type, but you have no idea how much better that pressure can make him feel."

Geralt's hand shot out, grabbing Jaskier's bicep as he passed by. Jaskier looked up at him, the question written on his face. Geralt leveled him with a sincere nod. "Thank you."

A soft smile wormed its way onto Jaskier's lips. "Of course, love." He patted Geralt gently on the hand, signalling for him to let go, so he did. "I'll be by Eskel's room in a moment. Hurry back to him."

Geralt nodded, following him out of the room and separating in the hallway. He hightailed it back to Eskel's door, slowing when he crossed the threshold. Geralt carefully shut the door behind him, dousing the room in complete darkness and eyes never leaving the slightly shaking form on the bed. Gingerly approaching Eskel from behind, Geralt slid on to the bed, propping himself up on the headboard.

"Hey," he whispered, announcing himself before gently laying a hand on Eskel's shoulder. At first, Eskel jerked, and Geralt very nearly yanked his hand away, but Eskel relaxed almost immediately after. He decided to take it as a sign that touch was okay.

"Can you turn to lay on your back?" Geralt asked, hand smoothing over to rest at the base of Eskel's neck.

"Wha-?" Eskel muttered, not moving just yet.

"Try to lay on your back."

Geralt knew Eskel wanted to ask why, but, whether it was because of desperation or trust built over a century, he simply responded by gradually rolling over. He gave a low groan as he shifted. Geralt supported his neck and laid the other hand on his side to keep him from moving too fast.

"Fucking hell..." Eskel gasped, jaw clenching tightly. Geralt tried not to think how his normally eloquent brother was reduced to almost nothing but groans and swearing.

"Don't do that," Geralt admonished, gently tapping the side of Eskel's clenched jaw. "Makes it worse."

"Habit," Eskel forced out, but he complied.

"Unlearn it," Geralt retorted, no real heat in his voice. For a moment, silence passed over them as Geralt thought over his next words. Eventually, he decided to just go for it.

"Trust me?" he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question.

"'Course," was the instant reply.

Geralt bit back a smile. Slowly, cautiously, carefully, Geralt placed his hands on the base of Eskel's neck and on his upper back, lifting him up so he could slide in behind him. Lowering him back down, Eskel's head now rested on Geralt's thigh. It was much, much closer than either brother usually felt comfortable with, but at this moment, neither cared.

"You okay?" Geralt prodded softly. On the surface, it was a dumb question, but he knew Eskel understood what he meant: _Did I hurt you? Are you comfortable? Is this better?_

"Good," Eskel mumbled, and almost all of Geralt's fears dissipated. A few of them lingered, however, and they were the ones that, instead, spiked when he looked down and saw Eskel's face contorted in agony.

"Jask is getting a few things for you. He should be here soon," he assured, tilting his head back against the headboard and staring distantly at the closed door.

"Few things? Why?"

"Like I said, he gets these. Wants to help."

Eskel paused. "And you?"

"I'm here."

Eskel hummed quietly. He didn't speak.

Geralt took it as a sign to progress. He started off by lightly pressing the tips of his fingers at Eskel's hairline. He stopped, taking a moment just to affirm, "Touch okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

With that, Geralt continued, delicately dragging his nails down Eskel's scalp. As he reached the base of his skull, Geralt applied moderate pressure and kneaded at the spot just between the base of his skull and the start of his neck. A low moan started to slip unbidden from Eskel's lips, only to be cut off once Eskel realized what he was doing. Geralt could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from his brother.

"It's fine," Geralt placated, lifting his hands and repeating the motion. "Jask does it all the time."

Eskel gave a wounded noise, and Geralt nearly winced at the sound of it. "This is fucking stupid," Eskel whispered.

"What is?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer but still asking, curious to see if Eskel would realize how dumb his answer sounded once he said it out loud.

"Should not be put down by a damn headache."

Geralt let silence fall over them, then let it linger until it started to become awkward. It only took a minute, and he never stopped his ministrations throughout it. "Do you now realize how stupid _you_ are?"

"Shut up," Eskel scoffed, but there was a hitch in his voice, a barely perceptible stutter, that sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a sob. Geralt's hands immediately stilled, and Eskel gave a strangled grunt at the loss of it.

Geralt lifted his head away from where he leaned on the headboard and looked down at Eskel. He frowned, tapping Eskel's unscarred cheek to get him to open his eyes. Eskel begrudgingly obeyed, amber irises peeking through slitted eyelids. Just as he'd suspected, Geralt could see that the watery eyes had evolved into unshed tears.

"Fucking hell, Esk..." Geralt breathed out, stomach dropping at the sight.

Eskel tried for a wry grin, but a stray tear diminished its intended effect. "It really fucking hurts, Geralt."

Geralt swallowed thickly, not even thinking as he gently swiped away the tear. Eskel closed his eyes again, effectively hiding his tears and himself. Geralt glanced upwards at the ceiling, dragging in a steadying breath before whispering,

"Jask will be here soon. He'll bring things that will hopefully make this more tolerable for you."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

Geralt could hear Eskel swallow nervously. "Don't have to stay here."

"Gods' sakes, Esk," Geralt huffed, choosing to resume Eskel's massage than to dignify what was quite possibly the most ridiculous statement he'd heard all year with an answer.

Eskel audibly choked back another relieved sound. "Fuck," he gasped.

"So eloquent," Geralt teased.

"Fuck, Geralt, not now," Eskel whimpered, body suddenly tensing between Geralt's legs.

"What happened?" he demanded at once, knowing something must've happened for Eskel to react that way.

For a minute or two, Geralt's only answers were deep, shaky breaths as Eskel seemingly tried to collect himself. It certainly didn't help Geralt's ratcheting anxiety. At some point, one of Eskel's hands moved to rest on Geralt's knee, and his grip stiffened.

"Might be sick," Eskel forced out between clenched teeth.

"Shit," Geralt growled, surveying the room for something Eskel could puke in. Where was Jaskier? He should be here by now...

Like an angel sent by Melitele herself, Jaskier chose that moment to walk in with a bucket and mug of something in tow. So overcome by relief, Geralt almost didn't notice Lambert following behind with a tray in his hands. He tensed, praying to every god above that Lambert didn't choose now of all times to start something. One look at his younger brother's face, though, managed to replace all of his worries with guilt. Lambert's eyebrows had drawn together in concern, and a frown donned his face.

Eskel tapped Geralt's knee, the silent question coming through clearly.

"Just Jask and Lamb."

"Fuck," Eskel hissed and jerking under Geralt's hands. He held Eskel down. "The whole keep gonna come?"

Jaskier hummed quietly, setting down the bucket by the bedside and directing Lambert to set down his tray on Eskel's nightstand as he did so. Lambert obeyed without complaint. He carefully guided the tray onto the oak table, using his other hand to cushion the tray and muffle any clattering noise, no matter how quiet it would have been. Geralt pushed down the sudden swell of pride. Now wasn't the time.

"Note to self: Eskel is only grumpy when ill," Jaskier murmured, deliberately keeping his voice low. He retrieved a damp washcloth from the inside the bucket and handed the mug in his hand to Lambert, who repeated the same process as he did with the tray.

"Dammit, Jask. Not now," Eskel groaned.

Geralt watched Jaskier's eyes soften and gratefully accepted the washcloth the bard handed to him. He nodded his thanks, only for Jaskier to wave it off.

"On a scale from one to ten, sweetheart," Jaskier prompted gently.

Eskel grunted, eyes screwing shut tighter. His grip on Geralt's knee strengthened for a second before immediately loosening once he noticed what he did. "Six."

They all knew he was lying.

“A twelve then,” Jaskier muttered to himself.

Geralt withheld a sigh. "Washcloth," he warned, then lowered the warm cloth over Eskel's eyes. Between its heat and the weight from being damp, Eskel couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped him.

"Nausea?" Geralt asked, settling his hands back to the base of Eskel's head and kneading there.

"Think it passed."

Geralt turned to Lambert and Jaskier. "What else is there?"

Lambert pointed to the mug Jaskier had brought in. "Tea," he answered, voice hardly above a whisper. He pointed to another mug on the tray. "Cold water. Got another wet washcloth, and a couple snacks if he gets hungry."

Jaskier nodded. "Best to keep him hydrated and well-fed, even if he doesn't want to. It'll only get worse if he doesn't take care of himself."

" _He_ is right here," Eskel muttered, mouth twisting in either pain or annoyance. Probably both.

" _He_ should be trying to sleep," Jaskier fired back, but his tone held no malice, and his blue eyes were flooded with concern. Knowing Eskel couldn't see him, Jaskier turned and Geralt could clearly see in the dark as Jask mouthed, _"He's really bad."_

Geralt nodded. He knew all too well.

Behind Jask, Lambert stared at Eskel, arms crossed and jaw tense as he watched their brother start to shake from what Geralt assumed to be a particularly sharp stab of pain. Geralt caught Jaskier's eye. Jaskier, having noticed Eskel's tremors, nodded at Geralt's look and faced Lambert, resting a gentle hand on the youngest witcher's arm. He tried to steer Lambert towards the door, but the youngest witcher refused to move. Jaskier opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw Lambert lock eyes with Geralt.

Geralt almost sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the concern and sympathy in Lambert's eyes, a glint of fear hiding in between. At this, Geralt nodded and mouthed, _"I've got him."_

Lambert lingered just a second longer, then nodded back and followed Jaskier out the door. He shut the door behind them, ensuring he did so silently.

Geralt sighed through his nose, carding his fingers through Eskel's hair. "Wanna try the tea?"

"Not now," Eskel mumbled.

"It'll only taste worse when it's cold," Geralt reminded, knowing he would heat it up with Igni when it came down to it, but also hoping it would convince Eskel to get it over with.

He must've underestimated Eskel's current state because Eskel only whined in response, not bothering to cut this one off. Geralt swore wildly in his head, moving from gentle scratches to applying even pressure. He wanted to work quickly, all instincts begging him to administer a cure as fast as possible. But there was no cure for what was plaguing Eskel, and moving faster would only make things worse. Eskel definitely didn't deserve worse.

"Okay," Geralt whispered, rubbing small circles into Eskel's scalp. "Not now. But tell me when."

Eskel didn't verbally respond, but he did squeeze Geralt's knee in acknowledgment. It wasn't quite the agreement Geralt wanted, but he would take it regardless.

The two of them lay in silence for a while, no way of telling how much time had passed. Geralt suspected it might have been twenty minutes or so when Eskel spoke again.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

Geralt hummed. "For what?

"Staying.”

It took all of Geralt's effort not to huff an irritated sigh. "Esk, I already told you, I’m here. I’m staying. And just so you know, I...” Geralt frowned, collecting his thoughts. “I’ll always help you. When you need it. Or, uh, when you _want_ it, too.”

Where Eskel would have chuckled, he huffed a soft breath of laughter, followed by a wince. “I know.” Eskel swallowed thickly and squeezed Geralt’s knee. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Esk. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. Not for something as simple as this.”

“Wouldn’t exactly count taking care of me as simple.”

Geralt pulled away a corner of the washcloth to reveal Eskel’s eye. Eskel blinked wearily as Geralt leaned over, so he silently vowed to make his words quick. “Eskel, we’re witchers. We know rotten work. And taking care of you? That isn’t it. It’s the furthest thing from it.”

Eskel kept his gaze for a couple seconds, a glint of something (Shock? Surprise? Disbelief?) in his eye. But then he closed it again. Geralt gently replaced the washcloth with a silent sigh. That conversation might be better left for another time. 

Without another word, Geralt continued to sink the pads of his fingers into Eskel's scalp, occasionally dragging his nails over the skin and through his hair. Jaskier had told him once that his scalp was particularly sensitive during migraines, like someone had gripped him by the hair or how it would feel to undo a tight ponytail. Geralt's careful ministrations helped with that, according to the bard. He hoped it helped Eskel, too.

Geralt raised his hands, moving them to the front of Eskel's hairline, and slowly brushed his hair back, aiming to relieve the painful areas at the base of his hair strands. Almost immediately upon doing so, a low moan ripped itself from Eskel's chest. The witcher in his lap jerked, one of his legs drawing up slightly. 

Frowning, Geralt asked, "Was that okay?"

Eskel let out a shaky breath, slowly relaxing again. "Yeah. Fuck. Sorry. Uh, caught me off guard."

Geralt hummed. "Don't apologize. That kind of thing is overwhelming for Jask, too. Should've known it would be worse for you."

"Not worse but...a lot."

"So it felt good, but it was too much?" Geralt asked, quirking a grin that Eskel couldn't see. 

Eskel must've known he was being teased because he weakly swatted at Geralt's knee. "It's sore," he murmured, the scent of embarrassment wafting in the space between them. 

Geralt's grin dropped back into a frown. He hadn't wanted to make Eskel uncomfortable. His brother was already in pain; embarrassment over a natural reaction should be the last thing he was worried about. "Do you want me to continue doing that, or is it too much?"

"I-" Eskel suddenly cut himself off with a grunt, muscles tensing and almost spasming. “Shit. _Shit._ ”

“Esk?”

Eskel all but threw the washcloth from his face, teary amber eyes staring up at Geralt as he hissed, _“Bucket.”_

“Fuck.” Geralt leaned over and grabbed the bucket from the spot on the floor beside the bed. He shoved it into Eskel’s hands, guiding his brother into a sitting position. Eskel leaned himself over the top, face nearly inside. Geralt sat behind him, hand rubbing small circles on his back. 

The sound of retching soon filled the air. With each heave, Eskel’s muscles wound themselves tighter. Geralt decided to bring his hand higher, working at the back of Eskel’s neck in hopes of relieving some of the pressure building there. Before long, the retching turned to Eskel spewing up whatever was left in his stomach from the day before. The acidic smell enveloped them both, but Geralt had smelled worse things on the Path. Geralt’s eyes strayed to the bedside table, where a spare washcloth sat on the tray. Gratitude sprouted in his chest as he silently praised Jaskier and Lambert’s foresight.

After what felt like an eternity (but, realistically, only a couple of minutes), Eskel leaned back slightly, dragging in ragged deep breaths. Geralt reached over and grabbed the spare washcloth. 

“Wipe your mouth,” he instructed softly, “and hang it on the rim of the bucket.” 

Eskel flinched at the sound of Geralt’s voice, no doubt having a worsened migraine after exerting himself. He complied anyway, blindly reaching for the cloth. Geralt placed it in his hand and watched for a second as Eskel cleaned his face. As he did so, Geralt took the second mug, one filled with water, and handed that over also when Eskel hung the washcloth on the rim of the bucket.

“Here. Rinse and spit.”

Eskel obeyed that order as well. When he was done, Geralt placed the bucket back on the floor. When Eskel handed back the mug, his hand trembled, the leftover water threatening to spill over the edge. Geralt quickly took that, too, and set it back down on the nightstand.

“Down,” Geralt coached, gently settling Eskel back down onto his lap. Doing this gave him a full-view of Eskel’s face, and he swore his heart stopped at the tear tracks left behind, despite Eskel’s cleaning. He didn’t mention them, though. He simply continued to stroke Eskel’s hair, holding off on putting the clean washcloth back over his eyes.

Eskel trembled in his lap, full-body shivers that Geralt knew he couldn’t control. If Geralt could take the pain away from him, he would, no matter what it cost, but he couldn’t. He could only sit there, stroking Eskel’s hair, and pray it would all be over soon. 

“Wanna try the herbal tea now?” Geralt whispered, trying to keep his voice lower than before, knowing Eskel’s migraine was worse now. Sure enough, he didn’t even get a verbal response. A trembling hand latched onto Geralt’s knee again. There, Eskel used his index finger to move side to side. 

_A no then,_ Geralt thought to himself. He supposed he understood. After that episode, Geralt was sure the last thing Eskel wanted was something else in his stomach. Not to mention that drinking the tea required moving, and that seemed to be a pretty terrible idea.

“Washcloth for your eyes?”

The index finger dragged up and down.

Geralt reached for the discarded washcloth that had mostly dried and laid it back over Eskel’s face. He always kept one hand in Eskel’s hair, massaging and stroking the sore parts of his scalp. Only a few minutes of nothing but Eskel’s pained breathing passed when the door to the room opened again. Geralt watched as Lambert slinked inside, footsteps silent and the door shutting just as quietly. 

“Jask sent me to check on you guys,” he murmured. Geralt subtly tilted his head to listen to his brother’s heartbeat. Nothing pointed to Lambert lying, but Geralt could sense an ulterior motive there. 

Geralt opened his mouth to respond, but the soft sound of Lambert scenting the air cut him off.

“He threw up?” Lambert asked, slowly creeping towards the side of the bed where the bucket sat.

Geralt nodded. “About ten minutes ago.”

“Fuck.” Lambert picked up the bucket, careful not to touch the dirtied rag or drop it into the mess inside. “I’ll go clean it out. Need anything else?”

Geralt paused for a moment, waiting for the finger on his kneecap to move. After a few seconds of silence, Eskel signed, “No,” again. Lambert must’ve caught the movement, too, because he simply nodded. The younger witcher peered over at the mug sitting on the bedside table, frown deepening when he saw the herbal tea untouched.

Eyebrows furrowed, he looked at Geralt questioningly. “No?” 

“Too much right now.”

Lambert hummed quietly in understanding. “Be right back,” he said, gesturing to the bucket. At Geralt’s nod, Lambert turned and walked out of the room, stopping only to cast one last worried glance at Eskel.

Once he was gone, Geralt glanced down at Eskel, whose shaking had finally ceased. “How are you feeling?” Geralt asked.

It took a moment for Eskel to respond, but if it meant getting Eskel to verbally reply, Geralt would wait forever. “Can’t...can’t drink that tea,” Eskel whispered, though it sounded more like a whimper than anything else.

“It could help.”

“I know...Don’t wanna throw up again.”

Geralt hummed. He figured that would be the answer. “So I take it you don’t want the food then, either?”

Eskel tensed in his lap, and even with half of his face covered by the washcloth, he still managed to look vaguely sick. “No. Gods, no.”

Geralt pursed his lips, withholding the obvious comment that Eskel’s migraine would only get worse if he didn’t tend to himself. Eskel knew that already. Knowing it didn’t make eating or drinking any easier. 

Deciding it would do no good to keep pressuring his brother, Geralt asked, “Would you let Lambert stay here with us? If he stayed quiet?”

Eskel made a startled noise. “I...Yeah. I suppose.” He gave a low groan as he shifted. “Why?”

“He’s worried,” Geralt said simply, bringing his hands to Eskel’s temples. He pressed down, making small circles once Eskel gave a sigh of contentment.

Eskel was quiet for a while. “He shouldn’t be.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be concerned if you walked in his room and found him in the dark, unmoving, and reeking of pain?”

Eskel flinched at the image that thought conjured. “Different.”

“How is it different?”

“He wouldn’t have deserved it.” 

Geralt’s hands stilled once more, his heart missing a beat at Eskel’s words. His brother gave a quiet whine at the loss of soothing pressure, but Geralt’s mind was too clouded to process it. At that moment, Lambert chose to walk in, stopping at the sight of Geralt’s undoubtedly concerned face staring down at Eskel.

“What’s going on?” Lambert asked slowly, keeping his voice low. He gingerly closed the door behind him, moving to set the bucket back in its original position.

“Lambert,” Geralt started, tone gruffer than he intended, “sit with us.”

“Uh...” Lambert’s eyes darted between Geralt and Eskel. “I...Are you sure?”

“Very. Sit.”

“Geralt,” Eskel all but groaned, “don’t start.”

“The fuck is he talking about?” Lambert demanded as he rounded the bed to the other side. He carefully laid himself beside Eskel, head level to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt clenched his jaw. “Eskel just implied he deserved his migraine.”

Lambert gave a quiet snort through his nose. “Well, duh. Who the fuck pushes themselves like he did yesterday?” he huffed, but Geralt could tell he didn’t mean it.

Eskel, on the other hand, made some kind of wounded noise.

Quick to retract his teasing remark, Lambert began to murmur, “Eskel, I didn’t actually mean-“

“No,” Eskel interrupted, “I know. I just...” He gave a short gasp of pain, hand flying up to the bridge of his nose in an attempt to massage away whatever sudden stab of pain he felt. Geralt immediately began moving his hands again, slipping them down to the back of Eskel’s neck to relieve some of the building tension.

“Take a minute,” Geralt muttered, feeling slightly guilty for pushing Eskel to explain himself when it had been clear from the beginning he was in no condition to do so. “You don’t have to answer right now.”

“No,” Eskel groaned through gritted teeth. “Give me-“ A low moan sounded as Eskel tilted his head to the side, practically burying his face into Geralt’s thigh as he tried to breathe through the pain. 

All of Geralt’s attention focused itself on Eskel, barely registering Lambert as the younger witcher sat up in alarm. Eskel drew his legs up, attempting to curl in on himself. Lambert pushed his legs back down at Geralt’s gesture, unspoken words between them as they attempted to get Eskel to relax again. Geralt barely tapped his brother’s cheek, reminding him to unclench his jaw. It took Eskel a moment to respond, and when he did, his jaw only slightly loosened.

Something was better than nothing, Geralt supposed.

“Fuck. Okay. Maybe this conversation should wait,” Lambert suggested, eyes wide. Geralt hummed in agreement.

“No,” Eskel moaned again. “I just need-“

“To fucking sleep,” Lambert finished, voice brooking no room for argument.

Eskel gripped Geralt’s knee harder. “Can’t. Hurts.”

Lambert hesitated, turning his eyes to Geralt and pressing his lips into a thin line. He looked close to saying something but decided to keep his mouth shut, anyway. Geralt furrowed his eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“Well, I, uh...” Lambert rubbed at his knuckles nervously, keeping his eyes locked on Eskel. “I’ve been practicing Somne a lot.”

“You think you can get him to sleep?”

Lambert shrugged. “Do it for Aiden all the time.”

Geralt tapped Eskel on the shoulder lightly. “Esk, what do you think?”

There was a brief moment where nothing was said. Then, Eskel gave a quiet sigh and dragged his finger up and down on Geralt’s knee.

“Do it,” Geralt nodded to Lambert. 

Lambert wasted no time in forming the sleep sign. With just one simple command, Eskel fell limp in Geralt’s lap, pained gasps evening out into soft breaths. Geralt let out a sigh, a weight in his chest alleviating at the sight of Eskel calming down. He gently rolled Eskel onto his back from when he had turned to hide against Geralt’s leg. After settling Eskel against his pillows, Geralt stood, stretching out his numb legs and ass. 

As he did so, he raised an eyebrow at Lambert. “Since when did you start practicing _that_ sign?”

“Aiden needs it sometimes. I do, too. We learned it for each other while on the Path,” Lambert mumbled, this time less to do with being quiet and more to do with how he looked away from Geralt.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. Obviously, there was something Lambert wasn’t saying. “Why didn’t you use it on Eskel earlier?”

Lambert ducked his head, picking at the skin near his nails. “It feels wrong to use it on someone without permission. Like...Like it’s another form of Axii. Guess I just wanted it to be a last resort, you know? It’s selfish but-“

“It’s not selfish,” Geralt interrupted sternly. “We get it.”

Lambert nodded, but still refused to make eye contact. Geralt withheld yet another sigh.

“Come on,” he urged, jerking his head towards the door. “He’ll be asleep for a while. We’ll grab food, stretch, then come back to check on him.” Geralt shot a soft look at his sleeping brother. "I think...I think you and I also need to have a talk, too."

Lambert stared at Geralt before glancing over at Eskel, who was snoring softly, face devoid of any pain lines. “Okay,” he agreed, sounding a bit saddened. “Sounds good.”

~~~~~~~

By the time Eskel woke, his head felt much fuzzier than he could remember it being. It wasn’t the piercing, all-consuming pain from before, but a dull throb lingered at his temples. A bone-deep weariness plagued his whole body. Eskel groaned softly. It felt more like a hangover than anything else.

A soft-spoken voice broke the silence. “You awake?”

It took all of Eskel’s training to not flinch. Shit. How did he not notice that someone was there? He carefully cracked open his eyes, wary of any light that may have entered his room. Instead, he was greeted with complete darkness, save for two sets of bright amber eyes hovering above him. Eskel couldn’t help the startled noise he made. He missed the presence of _two_ people, not just one. Also, why were they so close?

“What?”

“Yup, he’s awake,” Lambert deadpanned, face disappearing as he dropped back down to lay next to Eskel. 

Geralt, who Eskel assumed spoke first, hummed and narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel?”

Eskel swallowed thickly. “Uh, better, I guess?”

“You _guess?”_ Lambert snorted from beside him.

“Headache’s a lot better. Just kinda tired, neck’s sore.”

Geralt stared for a moment longer, then leaned back against the headboard, legs outstretched and his hip beside Eskel’s head. “Can’t do much for those.”

“Mm. I know.” Eskel grunted as he shifted, hand raising to cup the back of his neck and rub away at the soreness lingering. 

An awkward silence passed between them until Lambert finally whispered, “You scared the shit out of us, you know.” Geralt made an agreeing noise.

Eskel flinched, feeling properly chastised. “Sorry. I thought...I thought you knew.”

Lambert scoffed. “Knew what?” 

He didn’t know what to say. Did they really not remember? Was it not important to them the same way it was to him? No, of course not. They didn’t have the marks on their faces to remind them.

“I’ve been...stressed.”

“Stressed about _what?”_ Lambert pressed, turning his head to look at Eskel. Eskel steadfastly kept his gaze focused on the ceiling. He could see Geralt lean forward slightly, but Eskel refused to catch his gaze, too. “It’s winter, the only time of the year you’re supposed to _not_ be stressed.”

“About tomorrow.” Eskel brought the hand behind his neck to the side of his face, running along the scars carved into his skin. They ached beneath his calloused fingers. “Deidre.”

A sharp intake of breath came from above him, while a small _“Fuck,”_ came from Lambert. Eskel closed his eyes and gave a short, wry smile. He tried to laugh at the dramatics of the situation, but his head throbbed and his neck was sore and his heart hurt and-

And he was crying.

“Shit, Kelly,” Lambert whispered. The bed shifted, and the next thing Eskel felt was warmth on his shoulder and in his left hand. Eskel turned his head to the side and buried his face into Lambert’s hair, tightening his grip on Lambert’s hand. On his other side, Geralt slid down silently and mirrored Lambert’s position. Eskel tried to stifle his sobs, but his shaky intakes of breath hurt his own ears.

“Is that why you said it?” Geralt murmured, tightening his hold around Eskel’s waist. “That you deserved your migraine?”

Even in his crying, Eskel felt the shame and embarrassment wash over him. “It was stupid to say.”

“You’re right. It was,” Geralt said bluntly. “What happened with...with _Deidre_...that wasn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have run away,” he whispered, voice cracking. His head pounded harder. “I should’ve gotten her.”

“And done what? Trained her? Had her become a witcher?” Lambert squeezed Eskel’s hand. “Esk, either way, her life was fucked. It didn’t give her any right to lose her shit and...” He trailed off. Eskel’s scars itched. “Look, the point is, it’s been years. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that shitshow.”

“He’s right,” Geralt chided. “You can’t hold yourself responsible forever. You have to learn to let it go.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

“Maybe. Or maybe take it from someone who knows.”

“There were so many things I did that I regret,” Eskel lamented, turning from Lambert’s hair and staring distantly above him. His vision blurred, obscured by tears.

“When you live as long as we do, there’s bound to be plenty of them,” Geralt admonished. “You can’t linger on it. You’ll make yourself miserable.”

“Or you’ll only hurt yourself,” Lambert added, “like you did today.”

With each word, each confession, the pounding in his head seemed to lessen. The soft reassurances from his brothers took weight off his shoulders, his chest. All his worries dissipated in the face of his brothers’ concern. He didn’t know how to thank them for it, so he settled it in the only way he knew how.

Eskel swallowed, a lump growing in his throat as silent tears dripped down the sides of his face. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be _sorry,_ ” Lambert snapped. “That’s not what we’re saying.”

“What we _are_ saying is that, next time, talk to us instead of running off into the forest until past midnight,” Geralt said, tone betraying his amusement.

Eskel chuckled, a sound slightly dampened by the tears. “Right. Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lambert raised his head and nuzzled into Eskel’s neck. Geralt did the same on the opposite side. Eskel closed his eyes and let himself relax in the comfort of his brothers’ warm embrace. It’d been so long since the last time they were like this. He’d treasure it for as long as he could.

Almost as if Geralt could read his mind - at this point in time, he probably could - he said, “You don’t have to wait until you’re suffering to find us, Esk. Just _ask_.”

Lambert nodded against him. “We know we make it... _hard_ , but...we’ll get better at it. For you. Just like you care for us.”

An overwhelming, crushing feeling of love pressed down on Eskel's chest. He suddenly found it hard to breathe. "Guys, it's okay. You don't have to-"

"We do," Geralt interrupted. "You should feel able to come to us when you need someone. It should have never gotten this far. You should've been able to confess your worries before you spent a whole day with a migraine."

Eskel shook his head as much as he could with his brothers tucked into his neck. "I don't want you guys to make yourselves uncomfortable because you think it'll make me happy."

"We....talked about it. While you were asleep. We want to be here for you, Esk," Lambert persisted, voice soft and sincere. "This shouldn't feel like a one-way relationship to you. We're your _brothers_."

"My _younger_ brothers," Eskel reminded. "It's not your job to worry about me. It's my job to worry about you."

"After over a century, an age difference of a year or two doesn't matter," Geralt growled, poking Eskel in the side. "That excuse doesn't work."

Eskel laughed gently, taking his hand from Geralt and using his wrist to wipe his tears. Geralt latched back into his hand as soon as he was done. Warm with affection, Eskel turned to both sides, planting a kiss on each of their heads. In response, Geralt and Lambert tilted up and pressed kisses onto their respective cheek. Geralt even went as so far as to plant his directly on Eskel's scars. 

"We love you," Geralt murmured, resting his head on Eskel's shoulder.

"Give us time to show that," Lambert said, following suit. 

"You already have," Eskel smiled, closing his eyes as the three of them drifted off to sleep together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this! Like, I said, more Eskel fics on the way. And to those who follow _What Is Pain If I Cannot Feel,_ know that an update is on its way. Life has just been...a thing. But it is coming, I promise.
> 
> Again, go check out Haven at Rose_SK on AO3 and havenoffandoms on Tumblr. She’s amazing.


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